


Flayed men and stags

by Amelia041223



Series: The krakens are Calling [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Eavesdropping, F/M, M/M, Seeing Ramsay again, Theon Greyjoy - Freeform, WOW spoilers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A maid witnesses a horror (or a relief). Battle against the Boltons and the baratheons, practically outside winterfell, theon gets in the fight and stuff happens. I'm not giving a lot away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Maid at the Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My second oldest sister](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+second+oldest+sister).



> This is my first piece of writing, so it's not very good, but I tried! I will admit that theon is and always has been my favourite character, I won't mind admiting, yes this is totally gonna be a series so hang tight! This idea is based on my sister's theory So i've been waiting forever to write it down, so here it goes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A maid in winterfell from the dreadfort goes to serve Roose Bolton some figs and tea, and instead has to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it, as this is my first attempt! This is a series, so sorry if I don't post regularly. Thanks for your support! This is based on a theory my sister started, and I had to finish.

To be a maid was hard work. To be a Bolton maid was worse. This maid would have given anything, her shoes, her dress, even her small rosy pink button which was the only token she had from her mother placed in the pocket of her apron, just to be an ordinary maid in an ordinary castle with nice, ordinary masters who had ordinary manners and ordinary courtesy and praise for her hard work.

Of course, wishful, impossible thinking like her's was dangerous. She had to be glad she even had a place to stay, at least she didn't have to work in a brothel, at least she was alive and well, that was more than could be said for some people. A lot of people. So why we're her hands shaking visibly while carrying a plate of figs and a pot of tea as she walked purposefully towards the comfortable, imposing bedroom of her master Roose Bolton?

She supposed it was natural, after all, every maid who worked in the Dreadfort were always identified for the racket of tea cups clattering together. But it wasn't the same. She couldn't shrug the idea, or rather the feeling of something bad about to happen, but it also felt good, in a sense, and it was going to happen soon, and she was going to witness it. That slowed her pace a bit, but did not stop it completely, so she shook her head, and sped up to the winding staircase at the end of the long hallway, much to the amusement of a passing squire, named Walter, or Waldo, or something unimportant, who stopped and smirked.

The maid paid him no heed, and kept on walking. But the feeling persisted. It took forever for her to wrestle her unhappy thoughts and force her laced boots made of cheap leather, falling apart at the seams, up the seemingly endless stairwell. It was quite a sight to see her lift her feet as if they had weights attached to them, as was the only reason the annoying, large for his age squire, lingered with the smirk plastered on his stupid face widening by the second. The maid couldn't help notice as he settled himself down on a window sill and watched her with his cruel piggy eyes. She felt slightly annoyed.

When she finally reached the landing, she smiled for the first time since the cook had complimented her on her rich, auburn hair all tied up in a tight bun the previous morning. She had glowed beautifully with pride, but now was just a mere grin of relief. She felt things were fine, if only she could cast away those dark and light feelings she felt.

Before she reached the door, she heard someone shouting. It was probably just Master Bolton yelling at one of those bastard's boys, or some soldier who had been on the battlements and had let that turncloak and the Master's daughter in law escape. It had been a frightening business, along with everyone in the kitchens being questioned, for apparently that had been where the turncloak had been seen last before entering the poor bride's dorm, or where they kept her. Thankfully, she had been serving Master Bolton at that time, so she had been left out of the frightening confrontation less fortunates had been forced to go through.

But she was wrong. It wasn't a poor soldier being yelled at, in fact, the voice didn't even belong to Master Bolton, it was the voice of the dreaded Ramsay Snow, no, Bolton now. She had to remember, or be the next girl to be sent running through the woods, or worse. She couldn't think of worse. The voice raised in great volume, and she could make out what they said, by against all her strong instincts, pressed her ear against the door. 

" _Bolton, my name is Bolton! Never Snow! How could you let my bride escape?! Father, you let my pet escape!"_

 _"You let her escape yourself."_ Master Bolton's voice was merely a whisper. She leaned fully against the door to listen.

" _If you hadn't treated her so poorly, there would have been no need for her to escape. How dare you yell in front of me? I thought this would have gone more smoothly, otherwise I wouldn't have had to send away the guards, as this is private. As for your pet, he had been a valuable hostage. You shame us all with your behaviour. You are nothing but a disgrace to this family. Leave me," he said dismissively. There was silence, then the maid opened the door a crack, debating on wether to intrude or not. She stayed where she was. Ramsay clicked his teeth ominously, and spoke with barely suppressed anger and intensity. "I had given you a chance, father. Too many chances. Now I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago." The maid's heart stopped in her throat. Something was telling her she should leave, but she paid no attention. Her eyes widened as she saw the glint of a flaying knife, the delicate sound of steel sliding from a tiny scabbard on his belt. Her eyes were so fixated on the blade, she didn't notice the look of surprise, and skeptical glints in his eyes, so very much like those of his son's who was standing directly in front of him with a piece of curved steel poised at his chest. "You wouldn't." He whispered, almost amused. "I would." He snarled. Roose had one last look of bewilderment, most unlike him, before his own bastard son lunged forward suddenly and grabbed his father's nearly bald head, and opened his throat from ear to ear with the sharp curve of the blade. Roose died as he lived, with barely more than a murmur escaping through his bloodless lips. The maid screamed. Ramsay dropped his blood stained knife on his father's shirt, and averted his gaze from his dead father. His icy, deadly eyes bore into her's and she felt shivers running up and down her spine. "Now, now, we can't have that, can we? I'm afraid you'd better start running." He tutted, a horrible smile gleaming on his face. The maid dropped the full tray with a clang that reverberated through the tower, turned abruptly on her heal, and ran. She ran, and ran, and ran,out the castle and into the snow, throwing up large tufts of cold snow. She ran and ran, and when she couldn't run anymore she collapsed and clutched her chest as she threw up in the clean white flakes. She shook so violently, she didn't know if it was from the cold or something much worse. She sobbed in her palms, tears falling through the cracks in between her fingers, unable to pick up her feet anymore, and sat there, a small figure alone in a sea of white, waiting for death, or dogs. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep, falling into the abyss of white. Her last thought was of a knife covered in blood._


	2. Music in the Woods.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war between the stags and the flayed men, Theon gets involved.

Theon heard the low sound of a war horn echoing through the quiet woods. He blanched and twisted in his chains attached to the ceiling, six feet above the ground. The last time he heard that horrible sound, he had been running through the forest with Kyra on the pretences of escape. That had ended badly, and everything had just gotten worse after that. But he couldn't think of that. It just stirred up unwelcome memories that chilled him to the bone, and deeper.

Stannis had left him hanging for maybe more than a day, or two, he couldn't be sure, with nothing to eat or drink. Escape had only served Jeyne, but at least Stannis wasn't about to remove his fingers, or skin him alive. All he had on were his breeches, small clothes, and a baggy shirt. His arms ached something horrible, as they were being slowly, painfully being ripped out of their sockets by his own weight, which wasn't much, but it wasn't like his arms were suitable for this kind of punishment. He tried to think of other things.

He still remembered the look on his sister's face when she saw him, full of horror, disgust, and pity. His sister wasn't like that. It was wrong. It had cut him deep. It still hurt as much as Ramsay's flaying knife had.

He remembered he had asked Stannis to kill him quickly by execution, before Ramsay came. They had received a letter that some maid had killed Roose Bolton while delivering some figs and tea for reasons unknown. They had received it from Wyman Manderly, who, after having been sent clarification on the rescue of his other son, the one who had not died at the Red Wedding, had sworn his sword secretly to Stannis.

Theon still ached at the fond memories of Robb. It still cut him deeper than anything, when Ramsay had smashed his teeth in with a sledge hammer and had told him he was dead, after Theon had spat in his face and called him a bastard. That had broken him, like his teeth. He hadn't been Theon after that. He had just been Reek. But now he had his name back, and he was free from Ramsay, as long as Stannis won. Stannis had to win, otherwise Theon was worse than dead, and he would be worse than Reek. He would be flayed into nothing. He shuddered, his chains rattling. This is what hell must sound like, he mused. It almost made him smile.

Then he heard the song of steel, the screams of agony, the dying men, the wounded men, and that dreaded war horn, sounding, ringing, singing...

He jerked at the sound of a raven calling his name, almost mournfully. That wasn't right, who would mourn him? Was it Jeyne? No, Jeyne was at the wall. Who was it then? It couldn't be Asha. She had never used that tone with him. Never. Was he dead? Then he heard the loud sound of a heavy key turning in the lock. For a moment he thought he was at the Dreadfort again, and Ramsay was coming for him. That thought terrified him so much, he stayed completely still with hardly a sound. Then he looked around and saw he was still with Stannis, and again he heard the song of steel outside. Then who was coming for him? Then he heard it. That all too familiar voice full of pain and malice. It uttered only a single word that filled Theon with terror and through his body and deep into his soul.

"Reek," said Ramsay.

Theon didn't move. He didn't breathe. He heard the soft sound of nails clipping stone and knew the dogs were with him. Grey Jeyne, Kyra, Red Jeyne, and many more. He heard their breathing, and the soft dangerous scuff of a boot and a door closing, then the strike of a match and the room was immediately filled with a soft, golden light which illuminated Ramsay's frightening, merciless, colourless eyes. Theon's breath caught in his throat and he shook vividly in his chains, filling the room with a loud clattering noise. Ramsay smiled.

"Why reek! Why do you look so scared? Why did you leave me? You don't look too comfortable up there! Here, let me help you down!" He laughed and strode purposefully towards the chain attached to Theon's wrists coiled around a hook in the wall, which was also attached to another hook in the ceiling to create a sort of pulley system. Theon watched his every stride with a vacant expression. If he showed his true feelings, Ramsay would see. He would know. He always knew. Ramsay would...but that was reek talking. Stupid, scared, pathetic reek. He was Theon. He was ironborn, though he didn't think of it that way, because that was also stupid. He was Theon, that didn't rhyme with anything except maybe eon. That wasn't the point. He was just Theon, not really a Greyjoy. Just Theon.

Ramsay wasn't going to take that away from him again. Not ever. Never. Then he heard the raven calling again, more urgently. His name, only his name. He smiled, showing his ruined teeth. Ramsay uncoiled the chain and immediately let go of it. For a moment, nothing happened, as there was hardly any weight in Theon. The Ramsay grabbed the chain again, and thrust it upwards violently.

Theon came crashing to the hard, cold stone floor, smashing his knees, and with the giant heavy chain falling down on top of his frail body. He screamed, then silenced himself, relieved of the pain lacing through his scrawny arms. His knees were throbbing and he didn't move, but stayed perfectly still. The dogs, much to Ramsay's anger, were on Theon at once, licking him, playfully biting him, and sniffing him, but causing no real harm. Theon smiled again, but even if he wanted to, he would never be able to lift his arms to pet them back.

Instead he just lay there, unmoving and still smiling. He then felt himself being dragged backwards across the floor, the dogs trailing him. He left smears of blood on the dark stone. Theon felt rough hands grab at his thin hair, and pulling back painfully until he was sitting up. He stared into Ramsay's cruel eyes.

"Why reek, why did you run away? You know what happens to runaways," he whispered sadly with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Theon said nothing, but stared right back into those unforgiving, penetrating glass orbs.

"Reek! Speak! I give you permission to!" He snarled. Theon continued to stare silently. Infuriated, Ramsay drew his arm back and punched Theon's head against the wall, leaving blood smeared on it. Theon grunted, straightened, and continued to stare.

Then he heard an enormous crack that filled the forest, which was followed with millions of screams of agony, men crying for their mother's and mercy, and their old gods, and then there was a tremendous cheer that shook the room. Ramsay turned his head, briefly and turned his attention back to Theon, who took advantage of the brief confusion. He raised his injured knee and thrust it brutally into Ramsay's groin.

Ramsay screamed, and jerked backwards, away from Theon. He sprawled on the dirty floor, clutching his injured balls, and cursed.

"You'll regret that Reek!" He screamed, "Reek, you will always be my Reek! Reek! You are a freak! You are meek! You are weak! Remember your name! REMEMBER YOUR NAME! WHAT IS YOUR NAME?" He screamed.

"Theon," he replied calmly. "My name is Theon." Then he painfully lifted his right arm and extended his index finger, pointing straight at Ramsay's face. Then he turned on his heel, opened the door and left the room to Ramsay's screams of agony while his own loyal bitches tore him to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The maid found an inn and worked there until the war ended, and her mother unexpectedly walked through the door wearing rosy pink buttons on her dress. It was a nice reunion and they lived in the upstairs of the inn, since their original house had been burned down. They lived happily. The ice where the baratheon army were fishing was mentioned in the books, and I had wanted it to go this way. It was a theory from my sister to which this is dedicated to, and I just went crazy, and here is the result. hope you liked my first attempt, as here will be lots more to come. Thanks!


	3. The Broken Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon goes into the battle.

Theon's ears were ringing, ringing, ringing...Ramsay was gone, gone forever. He was never coming back to haunt him. Why had he been so easy to get rid of? Because he had been human, only human. The creature who had taken his fingers, teeth, toes, looks, and dignity, the one who had raped and killed and flayed countless innocent women had been only a man. A mortal. It infuriated him.

Theon trudged through the blinding snow into the direction of the battle, trailing the long heavy chain creating a snake like imprint in the snow. 

He barely noticed the cold, or the screams or the blood, he just kept on walking, hardly daring to believe he was dead. Theon kept walking. 

He walked through battles, bodies, and always managed to avoid swords until he made it to the frozen lake without once catching the chain on something. 

He didn't know where he was until he stopped and looked around. The once frozen lake was now caved in, pale water infested and clouded with blood, bodies and horses was what had taken it's place. Theon vaguely remembered there being hundreds of holes cut into the ice for fishing, and he guessed the weight from the horses had driven them into it, causing that tremendous crack he had heard earlier.

He stood stock still, taking in the view of the dead cluttering the woods. So many. Then he recognized some of the bastard's boys, all those who had called him kinslayer, turncloak, and had spat at his feet. He felt nothing. Who cared they had spat. They had a right to, even if their crimes had been far worse than his own. He was alive, and they were not. Not anymore. He still felt nothing. No happiness, no remorse, just nothing.

He then heard a scream behind him, louder than the others. He turned and stared. Tysho Nestoris, that banker who had had him thrown at his sister's feet was standing backed against a wall by Damon dance-for-me. Theon felt something then. He hated those two men, but he hated one more than the other, and that was Damon, no question. Without thinking, he started to walk towards them. Damon didn't see him, which seemed so mysterious and funny for some strange reason. He kept walking and never stopped Until he was right behind him.

He then carefully, slowly, lifted his chain into a bundle, still attached to his chaffed wrists. Tysho didn't see him, his gaze was too fixated on the sword drenched in blood being shoved in his face. Theon smiled, lifted the heavy bundle carefully, his arms shaking, and dropped it on Damon's head. There was a sickening crunch as the heavy steel contacted with his thick skull, and he came crashing to the floor, blood everywhere. Theon wasn't finished. He took Damon's fallen sword and with one large lunge, stuck it smack into Damon's uncovered chest. He grunted, and died. Simple. Theon smiled. He then turned towards the cowering banker and dropped the wet blade at his feet. He then turned and kept walking, trailing the heavy, and now bloody chain behind him.

He picked up a sword from the lake, and then joined in the fight. He killed four or five, and was exceedingly tired, but didn't stop. Each of his foes looked at him in surprise before they were killed mercilessly, the flayed men sigils on their stupid armour dripping with blood as red as their own blades...

Theon was sitting by a tree, cleaning his sword with snow, and muttering his name, the long chain still cuffed to his wrists, and now resting in the snow around him. He had never tripped on it, nor stumbled, which had been surprising, but he didn't think about it.

After a while, he sensed someone standing behind him. He didn't turn around, but stayed where he was, his feet and hands numb with cold he didn't feel. He heard the footsteps near, slightly trip on his chain and stumble into the snow beside him. He didn't flinch.

Theon felt a light hand on his shoulder. He turned and stared into his sister's eyes. What was she thinking? Was she worried? Pitying? Mad? No. She was, what, wait a minute... Was that pride? He couldn't remember his sister ever being proud of him, yet she was smiling at him. Well, he thought. There was only one thing to do in a situation like that.

He smiled back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!


End file.
